Tattered Cardboard....

Were you there when they crucified my Lord...

Onward, Christian Soldiers...

I walked today where Jesus walked....

The old rugged cross....

Amazing grace...

How great thou art....


Hymns of my past, present and future.  Some of my favorites. My foundation of my faith....my connection to church and the Word.   I've sung them from a hymnal, from memory, and on a large screen hanging from the ceiling near the pulpit. 

I've seen their hymn numbers posted in bulletins, flashed on screens, but last Saturday, as I was preparing for Sunday's service I decided I liked them posted - the old fashioned way....

You see, these numbers....these tattered, aged, worn pieces of cardboard, remind me of ....    me.

A little rough around the edges...
Worn...
Faded...
Sturdy...

I relate to these numbers....

 

I ponder all the hands that have held them, I wonder if, when they accidentally bent a corner while trying to place it in the row, how they might have felt.  I think about all the hands - giving hands - that put them up and then took them down, Sunday after Sunday, Advent through Lent, baptism, funeral, Confirmation, Christmas, Easter, Reformation Sunday....



My Christian journey started in a small-town Methodist church - where we still had enough kids to have a children's junior high choir, even adults to have an adult choir, and rarely an empty pew.  I found the hymn numbers in the bulletin and marked them in the red hymnal that I treated with great reverence- thanks to the teaching of my parents (I would almost cry if I bent a page of the thin paper).

I've been a member of a large suburban church near Des Moines where there were more services on one Sunday than we had in a month of Sundays growing up.  I've seen the opportunities this church had simply because of the sheer numbers.  I sang hymns from the large screens that dropped from the front of the church while the organ rang loudly in my ears to accompany such a large congregation.

Currently, I'm one of approximately 12 that worship at my small Missouri Synod Lutheran Church in NW Iowa.  We have two kids in our church ages 15 and 18 - and they are mine.  We have no choir unless you count us all sitting in our individual pews.  I've blogged about my church home before - how much it means to me....but last week, as I put the hymn numbers up on the board it dawned on me...

No matter the size of the church...

No matter the delivery of the hymns....

No matter the loudness of the music...

It boils down to this for me.....

How long will our church survive?  How many more hands will touch these beautiful pieces of cardboard?  How many more Sundays will they go up and down on the board?  How many other rural churches will survive?

What does it take to get people to church?  What deep, personal connection will make them come back?  Is it the pomp and circumstance that some churches have?  Is it the time of fellowship before and after that will draw them in?  Is it the feeling of acceptance - or is it that they won't feel accepted that keeps them away?

I don't have answers....I only have my connection.....

And my connection has always been the music....

And my love of placing the worn, old, tattered cardboard numbers up near the pulpit.

Reason for it all...

Alison Krauss is a favorite artist of mine.  Her soul-filled, bluegrass music reaches deep places within me and fills me with awe.  Her ability to play multiple instruments, her band members whose voices blend so perfectly, and her voice....the sweet, raspy, gives me goose bumps every time, gift from God.

This past couple of weeks have been filled with challenges.

Another divorce announcement...

A child diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes....

Another cancer diagnosis....

A man lost too soon....

It's easy to get lost in the grief, the anger, the frustration, and the pain.

But....

There have also been joys.

A new life brought into this crazy world....

A few weddings, where new families are created...

A trip of a life-time being taken by two well-deserving people....

A new puppy, given a loving home....


We have joys to balance the sorrows.


We just have to look.
Keep the faith.
Persevere.

One of my favorites of Alison's is below.  Please take a minute to listen...

It reminds me...

Alison Krauss - Reason for it All

Unexpected Duets

Now for those of you who know me, you know I sing.  I've been singing for as long as I can remember...and I'm pretty sure before I could talk, I would hum. :)

I'll have to ask my mom if I ever sang myself to sleep....

I don't remember ever really learning how to sing.  I mean, I took voice lessons in high school and I paid VERY close attention in elementary school music class and of course every Sunday I would listen to my parents sing in the choir and hear the congregation lift their voices, but I don't remember ever really being "taught".

And then one year, I don't remember when, but I remember having (as Oprah would say) an "Aha" moment....

My voice is His gift to me. 

Given so that I may use it to praise Him and spread His message.

Now, let me also tell you, that for the most part, I've used this gift in just that manner.  But there were times that, before I had that "aha" moment, I sang just for me. 

I was prideful.....never conceited, but definitely prideful....

Years ago, I sang with a group out of the Des Moines Metro, called GodZ GuyZ.  Talk about using your gift for Him....  We would travel to churches all around Iowa and spread His word and tell our stories.  Some would call that witnessing, but to me, that sounded a bit "too Bible Belt", so I just shared my "story". 

That time in my life was amazing and I'm grateful "the boys" asked me to join them.

It allowed me to grow.

I've done stints in Nashville, auditioned for "The Voice", performed for the "Colgate Country Showdown", sang at weddings and funerals, and have performed the National Anthem for various teams.

There is nothing quite as breath-taking as being on the ice in the Mark of the Quad Cities, with your face on the jumbo-tron in front of a full arena of riled up hockey fans numbering in the tens of thousands and having all eyes on you....

Waiting for you to sing the National Anthem...

A Cappella....

and THAT is when I felt closest to God...

and no, it wasn't because I was praying to not goof up :)

It was then, when the arena was in total darkness, and I felt alone - even in the midst of thousands, that I FELT Him.

Standing beside me....
Cheering me on....
Holding me up....
Singing a duet....

And I would sing with every ounce of my being.

I actually had one of the players (who we hung out with off the ice) tell me he would get "teary-eyed" when I was singing.  It stirred something in his heart.

Wow....  Hockey players are tough guys....

But my newest favorite memory of singing our National Anthem came this past Saturday evening...

Clay County Relay for Life called me last minute to see if I was available to sing the Anthem at their opening ceremonies.  I was thrilled, and actually talked about it in my last blog.

After being introduced, and seeing many familiar faces in the crowd, my eyes found another set of eyes sitting in the front row.

He was an older gentleman, bent over from age, or genetics, dressed a little haphazardly, but with a light in his eyes that struck me deep.

The Color Guard took their place and I took the microphone and began to sing....

and my mystery man in the front row sang with me...

word for word...

breath for breath...

And I smiled inside.....

Another duet....


There were some that apologized to me afterward for his singing so loudly.

I smiled at them and told them that yes, at first, it caught me off guard, but then it stirred something within me and I had to look away for fear the lump in my throat would become to big to sing around.

I was proud to have him sing with me.

I didn't know his name..... or his story.... but I will remember his voice with mine... singing a song that means so much to so many...

God is good.

Perspective....

It's an amazing thing.... perspective.

It usually sneaks up behind me and smacks me on the back of the head, kind of like an old Uncle Sal would do if you needed it.

SMACK!

Yep. 

I felt the firm hand of the Holy Spirit today - and no, I don't refer to it as Uncle Sal, although maybe if I did I would have a different connection - but that's deep thought for a different day. :)

The other day I reminded everyone with a post on a social media site to "zip it".  That someone always has it worse than you and to keep things in.... wait for it....

Perspective.

SMACK!  (this one was my hand on my forehead.)

Today, I ranted about my displeasure in a certain shipping company that was supposed to have delivered a package today to my home for my son.  My daughter was home and heard no knock, no ring of the bell and no vehicle idling in the driveway. (caveat - she is 18 and can sleep like the dead, but happened to be awake.)  I received an e-mail stating they tried to deliver and a door tag number and they'd be back tomorrow to attempt delivery again.

Enter the son, whose package it was.... "Mom, there's no door tag. Not on the front door, the back door, the garage door or the barn door."  Hmmmmm..... and the rant begins because my child is worried it's going to go to the wrong house, angry that his sister missed it, and frustrated that he was gone and so the "Momma Bear" gene kicks in....

As my rant drew comments of similar situations from friends with that same company, I started to feel bad about my words.  Not about the anger regarding the situation, but the words.  The person I so "un-lovingly" labled an idiot is someone's son or daughter, someone's husband or wife....

SMACK!  (not me this time)

"Papa Bear" just smacked me.... (another name reference that we'll have to talk about later)

Not more than 10 minutes after that last "reminder", I heard the funeral announcements on the radio. 

I sat absolutely still....

I had known he had gone to his Heavenly Home....but in the rush of my last couple of days hadn't paused to acknowledge it....

Lincoln...

The man I've blogged about before as a founding member of our small church many years ago, whose toothless grin could melt my heart because of the warmth coming from his eyes, finished his race and the funeral will be Friday.

Smack... (more gentle this time & again, not from me, because I wouldn't have been nearly as gentle)

Perspective....

I bowed my head....

Ashamed....

Linc wouldn't have been pleased....

My parent's didn't raise me to be like this.  Dutch-Irish heritage can be both a blessing and a curse, but lashing out isn't what ANYONE needed from me today.

Not even myself.

Fast forward about an hour, as I'm sitting humbled in my chair, heart heavy and feeling condemned when the phone rings.

"Hello?" 
"Are you sure?"
"I'd be honored. Thank you."

And just that quick, I feel an arm around my shoulder and I see a kind smile...  I've just been asked to sing the National Anthem for opening ceremonies at the Clay County Relay For Life on Saturday.

Perspective...
Uncle Sal....
Papa Bear...
The Holy Spirit....

And I am thankful, humbled, and blessed to share the gift He gave me with a cause near and dear to my heart.

Smack.....

No Spaghetti Arms

I can see the scene as clear today as if it was the first time I watched Patrick Swayze and Jenifer Grey work on dance moves in the movie Dirty Dancing.  The laughter in their eyes as she was taking the lead in teaching him how to dance and all he wanted was to hold her close...and she proceeds to tell him, as she spreads his arms out to his sides, "This is your dance space.....This is my dance space.....No spaghetti arms." 





It still brings a smile to my face...partially because the movie came out in my teen years and told a tale of a time I am in love with, and partially because I always thought Patrick Swayze was hot.  Yes.....I said it.....H.O.T., hot.  :)

But this post isn't about dancing.  Well, not so much the kind that is done on the dance floor.  It's about maintaining a space around yourself. 

A protective space. 
A harbor. 
A calm space. 

Life's dance.

We have many dance partners in our lifetime if you think about it. Not all the partners are two-legged and not all of them are graceful, nor are they polite. 

In fact, some of the dance partners I've had in my life have been horrible, toe-stepping on, hideous breath types.  No, not boyfriends of the past....but things like:

  Cancer that claimed Grandparents, Aunts and friends

  Betrayal of friends that cut deep wounds

  Fights within the family that you wish you could take back

  Bad choices - made quickly without thought to repercussions

Dance partners that I wanted to keep at arms length  - no spaghetti arms here....but they had other ideas....it was more like a wrestling match with them instead of a dance. 

Gripping me so tight I thought I'd never catch another breath. 
Stomping on my feet until I would cry in pain.
Invading my personal space, my calm, safe happy place.

And it seemed for a while that partners like this would fill my dance card forever. 

Seemed.....

Until I realized that although I can't keep these dance partners OFF my dance card....I can learn to dance with them a little better.

Like dealing with cancer....the big C.  The thing that I know will come into my life on a personal level and I'll fight with every ounce of my being....but I'll dance with it.  I'll let it lead me onto the dance floor and start the dance, but you can bet it will be a give and take of who is leading from that point on.  I'm sure there will be some days where it will be running me ragged with a fast cha-cha....and others where I'm kicking butt at the jitterbug....and still other times that we'll waltz, slow and with an understanding that only comes from having the same dance partner for so long.....

While I can't keep "spaghetti armed" dance partners out of my life, I can remind myself that no matter what happens on the dance floor of life, I won't always have those partners.... So I guess I can take the interruption of those dance partners who step on my toes, hold me too tight, and have absolutely HIDEOUS breath, and dance with them graciously....

They can step into my personal space...
My safe harbor.
My calm, happy place.

Because.....

For the most part I have great, Fred Astaire-like partners, that make me smile and twirl me around and make me look good.... you know...

like Patrick Swayze did with Jennifer Grey....

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner"




And so I dance.....

Genetics & Floodgates.....

What do genetics and floodgates have in common?  
 
From a language standpoint, nothing really.....  I mean look at the definitions:
 

ge·net·ics - noun - the science of heredity, dealing with resemblances and differences of related organisms resulting from the interaction of their genes and the environment.

 

flood·gate - noun - a gate designed to regulate the flow of water.

 

Two nouns.....unrelated......unless....

 

Unless you're a mother....

 

When it comes to being a mother, the two go hand in hand, and are intensely intertwined....

 
My mother is not a "crier".....she is a strong woman of Irish heritage, who could carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and still do chores, make supper, finish the laundry & tuck her girls into bed.... she held my hand when it needed held, but pushed me when I needed to be pushed.  It was from her I learned so much.... 
 
In 1995 I became a mother to a beautiful, blonde girl..... and my experience with genetics & floodgates began....
 
Case in point:
 
A daughter, my first-born, graduating from high school.
 
This happened to me this year....just last week. 
 
I knew this day would come....
 
I remember the first day I dropped her off at the Apple Tree Daycare center - the nervousness in her eyes, the hugs and reassurance coming from me, and the determination of both of us to not cry. 
 
Genetics & Floodgates.....
 
Fast forward to 6th grade - moving to a new town - an extremely small, rural town - the town your dad grew up in - buying the grocery store, and not knowing a soul except your grandparents.  Utter torture for a pre-teen girl....and her mother remembers well how mean those girls can be - life doesn't change much....but off to school she goes and her worst fears are realized.  Bullied and made fun of for the things that make her the light of her mother's eyes... and I try again, to reassure her for MANY years, while she cries in my arms and I hold back my tears....
 
Genetics & Floodgates....
 
Bring on graduation -
 
Oh, have I seen amazing growth in this girl who used to cower at new situations....

my "what-if" girl... 

"What if the school starts on fire, Mom?"   "What if I don't get on the right bus, Mom?"    "What if there is a tornado, Mom?"   "What if.....",  

I've seen her mature into a determined to face her fears, in your face if you've wronged her or anyone else, girl.  A bright light of energy, compassion, honesty and faith. 
 
I spent this last year of her school years reflecting....
 
remembering....
 
smiling....
 
and not crying....
 
Some mothers looked at me as if I was void of emotion.... others told me it would hit me when I least expected it....and still others warned me of potential break-downs....
 
I watched her dance her last dance, sing her last song, play her last beat, accept her diploma, turn her tassel, and still no tears... well, not full ones anyway.  There were lip quivers and watery eyes, but nothing fell....
 
Genetics & Floodgates....
 
She and I just returned from a school band/choir trip to Chicago.... I watched her interact with her peers, smile and laugh, reach out to others and thrive. I watched her share her love of music with children of all races and put smiles on their faces as they got a chance to play her quads. I watched her deal with emotions, mean-girls, encounters with strangers, and handle each situation with grace.  I was a proud momma....we're talking heart-busting wide open, proud momma.  :) 

I was so pleased that she asked to hang out with me (and not just because I had the money - tee hee), we got to make many memories that trip.... my "adult" child and I.  

And the floodgates started to crack open....


Fast forward to yesterday....

Transferring pictures of the trip to discs....

crack...

"Seeing" her through the lens of my camera....

crack......

Observing the light radiate from her smile....

crack....

Listening to her voice as she sang....

Woosh!.....    and the floodgates are fully open

The tears are flowing freely, emotions washing over me like a tidal wave....joy, sadness, pride, fear....

.....and my beautiful, blonde comes to me.  She holds me.... I hold her.....she weeps softly....


We heal.
              We rejoice.
                                We celebrate.
                                                      We remember.
                                                                              We love.
  
              We move on to the next chapter.